


Whatever Happens

by RuinNine



Series: Valhalla over Heaven [3]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22401715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinNine/pseuds/RuinNine
Summary: “This army will not reach Wessex as one,” Finan said with more hope than faith. “It will fall apart long before that.”There was a pause as Sihtric pondered that possibility. “What if it doesn’t?”─Uhtred's oathmen have a decision to make.
Relationships: Finan/Sihtric (The Last Kingdom)
Series: Valhalla over Heaven [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568359
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	Whatever Happens

**Author's Note:**

> No native speaker. No money. Just fun.
> 
> I followed the TV series in this rather than the books, because they summed up this particular scene really well. Many thanks and much love, as always, go to Lu and Gimli. Without you, I would have given up on writing long ago. <3

\<|>/  
  
  
It could have all gone so well.  
  
Of all the thoughts crowding Finan’s head, this was the one that repeated itself over and over and over. It could have all gone so well. They’d been welcomed to Dunholm with open arms, that evil witch Skade had been left under lock and key, effectively putting the curse on hold, and Uhtred had been slowly but surely regaining his strength.  
  
And then, within two minutes of tense top-of-the-gate greetings, everything had gone to shit.  
  
Upon their arrival at Dunholm, Finan hadn’t felt threatened by the fact that he and Osferth were probably the only Christians to be found within the fortress walls. The baby monk, on the other hand, had looked uncomfortable, no doubt put out by the boisterous and sinful ways of the Danes. But Osferth was always frowning anyway, somehow even when he was smiling. So no surprise there. Finan, though believing in God, had felt right at home in the company of people who liked to jest and drink and play games as much as he did. He’d endured the inevitable teasing of his faith with good grace and always a comeback that made Ragnar’s Danes roar with laughter.  
  
Until unexpected guests had come knocking.  
  
The laughter had been replaced by talk of war, the teasing had made way for spite and mockery. All three newcomers were secretly or not so secretly hoping to provide a shortcut for Uhtred’s way to Valhalla while two of them certainly wished the same for Finan himself. And behind them stood eighty Danes who wouldn’t mind cleansing Dunholm of its only two Christian inhabitants.  
  
It could have all gone so well.  
  
Finan watched in disbelief as Uhtred, without even sparing his companions a glance, agreed to wage war on Wessex. Finan watched as Uhtred, without asking for their consent, bound their swords to a cause that would set fire to everything they fought for, to everyone they cared for, to a land each of them had come to call home.  
  
And while every Dane in the hall started chanting and cheering, celebrating as if the end of Wessex had already come, Finan pried his eyes away from Uhtred’s laughing face to gauge the reactions of his brothers. Osferth was glowering into his cup of water, mouth set in an unhappy scowl and shoulders hunched inwards, already expecting an attack from the Danes surrounding them. Sihtric’s face was unreadable, but his back was rigid and his hands were balled into fists upon the table, no doubt to keep himself from reaching for his sword. Sensing his gaze on him, Sihtric looked over and Finan felt his breath catch at the unexpected, barely hidden flash of fear in his eyes.  
  
Another cheer rose around them and Finan suddenly couldn’t bear it any longer to stay and watch his life go to hell. He abruptly rose from the bench, gripping the hilt of his seax and bracing himself for shouldering his way out of the hall. Sihtric instantly jumped to his feet to accompany him, and Finan’s attempt at keeping calm finally derailed. “Can’t a man take a piss in peace,” he snapped.  
  
Sihtric froze, the fear in his eyes swaying towards anger, and Finan almost turned back to apologize. But he could hardly show such weakness in front of so many hostile Danes. Besides, he told himself, Sihtric would be safer in the midst of their remaining men. So he went on without looking back, and in his haste to leave, he accidentally jostled one of Haesten’s men on the way out. The warrior sneered at him, knife already in hand, but Haesten waved him away with a laugh.  
  
“Leave him be, Halef,” he said almost amicably. With the way he was leering at Finan, however, there was no mistaking his true thoughts. “There’ll come a time for killing Saxons soon enough. And little Irish-men.”  
  
Finan felt his hackles rise even further, and for a crazy second or two, he pondered how many enemies he could take down before they’d finally catch him and string him up. Not enough, he finally decided. Not nearly enough. Without another word, he left the hall to the lewd calls of Haesten and his rabble, the rage of the betrayed burning in his belly like acid.  
  
  
\<|>/  
  
  
_He’s trying, he really is, but he just can’t get to them. There are enemies between them, too many to count, and blood keeps dripping into his eyes, down his hands. He can feel the handle of his sword slip through his fingers, the edges of the leather binding cutting into his palm, and just as his fingers close around thin air, there’s a Dane coming at him, bright red axe high above his head-  
  
_Finan woke with a start, his hands grasping at an enemy that wasn’t there and catching in a woollen blanket instead. Breath racing through his lungs, he quickly sat up on the pile of furs in front of the hearth, disoriented. He must’ve fallen asleep during his self-imposed exile, meant to prevent a rash decision and a consequent bloodbath. He’d sat brooding for a long while in the house assigned to them by Ragnar, and fortunately, his brothers had known better than to join him.  
  
Until now.  
  
A single candle cast the room in a strange half-light, and Osferth was sitting right beside it, watching him with gentle eyes and one of his almost-smiles. Outside, night had fallen, the windows dark holes in the walls, and there was the steady thrum of rain hitting mud and thatch. With a grunt, Finan pushed himself to his feet, surveying the room. Uhtred was fast asleep on the bed, back turned so he couldn’t see his face.  
  
In an instant, all the rage came flooding back and Finan had to work hard to keep himself from jumping on the bed to shake their lord awake and demand a damn good explanation for the insane choice he had made in Ragnar’s hall. But there’d be time for that later. Finan did not plan on feeling sorry for punching Uhtred straight in the face for throwing away their lives like that because the lord could barely defend himself. He was still weak after long days. Best wait till the morning.  
  
Uhtred indeed deserved a solid slap, though. And Finan was only too happy to deliver it. He had turned it over and over in his head before all that running in circles had sent him off to sleep. What appeared to be a rash decision, born from anger and hurt pride and the disaster of Uhtred’s banishment, could’ve been – _must’ve_ been – a feint to save all of their lives: play along with Ragnar’s plans of war until the opportunity to depart without a knife to the back presented itself. Finan certainly hoped so. If not… God help them all.  
  
“Your face is not suited for a frown.”  
  
He turned to Osferth who was still smiling at him, and it took a moment for him to realize he had made a joke. Now of all times. “Listen, baby monk,” he started, but then stopped again when he couldn’t make up his mind between berating Osferth for joking and trying to make light of his abandoning his brothers in a hall packed with bloodthirsty Danes.  
  
Osferth shook his head in answer to everything Finan hadn’t said, dismissing his unspoken apology. “Sihtric set up guards, two at the alley entrance and two behind the house.”  
  
At the mention of Sihtric, a sharp sting echoed in Finan’s chest and he took a deep breath. “Where is he,” he asked quietly. Osferth simply inclined his head towards the front door, and Finan nodded his thanks.  
  
Sihtric had chosen his watchpost well. If Finan hadn’t been looking for him, he would’ve went right past him. With the rain clouds above blocking the moonlight, the front porch beneath the low thatch roof was cast in near-darkness, and Finan took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Blurry shapes of shields and spears appeared as he waited, lined up against the wall so they could easily be picked up in case a fight was inevitable. Piles of wood for the hearth inside the house lay stacked beside the shields, and had Finan poorer eyes, he would’ve missed Sihtric sitting on a low bench between those drying stacks.  
  
He said nothing as Finan approached, but his gaze followed him as he picked his way along the shields, careful to stay beneath the roof and out of reach of the freezing rain still pouring from the black sky. He was wrapped in a long cloak that Finan recognized as his own when he was close enough to see the white clouds appear whenever Sihtric breathed. He couldn’t make out his face beneath the hood.  
  
Finan sighed. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.  
  
For a few seconds, nothing happened. But then Sihtric exhaled a long breath. The heavy cloak parted as he reached out and hooked his hands behind Finan’s knees, tugging him forward. Finan understood the invitation – and the forgiveness – lying beneath the gesture and followed until he could slip his hands into Sihtric’s hair beneath the hood and cradle his head against his chest.  
  
Cutting his hair and leaving only two narrow plaits behind his ears had been Sihtric’s decision. In moments like this, Finan missed the long braids, woven by himself, but he understood his brother’s reasoning. Wearing his hair short allowed Sihtric to walk among Danes _and_ Saxons without raising suspicion – something a spy should never do. And yet, Finan found he missed the mark he had left on his lover, obvious only to himself.  
  
“What are we going to do now,” Sihtric asked, the words faint and barely audible, muffled against Finan’s chest.  
  
What in God’s name were they going to do? Finan had no idea. “I don’t know.”  
  
Silence fell between them, broken only by the pattering of the rain on the muddy street. Despite the alarming turn their lives had taken mere hours before, it was not an uncomfortable silence – as most silences were to Finan. He knew he had an incessant habit of running his mouth, mostly to joke and sometimes to annoy. But he had learned over the years that there was no need to constantly voice his thoughts to Sihtric. His brother in arms, not exactly an ever-running spring of words, understood him in a way where mere glances and smirks and little gestures often conveyed all he needed to know.  
  
The roots of these differences certainly lay in their upbringing which couldn’t have been further apart. Finan had been raised in a whirlwind of joy and drink and laughter, surrounded by a raucous, hungry-for-life people that was just as fierce in love as in battle. Sihtric, however, had been taught from his first word onward to keep his opinions to himself, lest he pay for them with bruises and blood. Dunholm had been a bleak and mirthless place when they had thrown the gates wide open, and Finan didn’t want to imagine a childhood in the shadow of the looming walls.  
  
These days lay far behind Sihtric now. He’d grown into a skilled warrior with a steady hand and a quick mind, and even though he could be savage in battle if the circumstances required it, he was kind and generous in times of peace (and when he thought no one was looking). And most of all, he was not in the least impressed by Finan’s frequent bouts of temper. A good thing that was, despite the cruelty that had created his thick skin, or they wouldn’t have lasted this long.  
  
Finan’s guilty conscience reared its ugly head as he thought back to his latest reason to apologize. “Sihtric? What I said in the hall-”  
  
Sihtric sharply shook his head to cut him off. “What Uhtred said in the hall is much more important.” He hesitated for a moment, and then continued quietly, “And the greater betrayal.”  
  
Out of reflex, Finan almost jumped to their lord’s defence. But Sihtric’s words rang true. It was a betrayal, of the sacrifices each of them had made to see Wessex thrive, of the blood each of them had given to hold the Danes at bay. To dismiss their loyal service without so much as a _by your leave_ … That counted as a betrayal indeed.  
  
But how to deal with it? There was the path of following Uhtred into battle against Wessex regardless of their own beliefs. But even though he’d been by Uhtred’s side through many follies and trials, the thought of waging war on their own legacy, their own friends, unsettled him greatly. And then there was the option of deserting Uhtred. This alternative made him just as sick. It prompted him to ask the question he had actually come to ask.  
  
“Will you break your oath to-”  
  
“No.”  
  
The answer was so quick, and so sure, that Finan felt compelled to ask again. “No?”  
  
“No.”  
  
He said no more, and Finan didn’t ask again. Oath-taking was a solemn and serious business with the Danes. You could break your vow, of course, but that didn’t mean you would be free of it. The Danish life was all about reputation, a benefit for the mere mortals around them as well as for their Gods, and the title of oath-breaker tended to put a sizeable dent into said reputation. Besides, the bond between Sihtric and Uhtred went deeper than most between lord and oath-giver, born from the same despair that drove both of them through life. And where Sihtric went, Finan followed. Simple as that.  
  
“Alright,” was all he said.  
  
But Sihtric understood. He leaned back, once again pulling him in. And again Finan went willingly, drawing his knees up on the bench and settling onto Sihtric’s lap. He hissed when their armour was pressed together, the cold of leather and steel seeping through to his already chilled skin. But then Sihtric folded the cloak across his back and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. His warmth quickly overlay the chill and Finan exhaled a content sigh.  
  
A white puff of breath answered him and he suddenly had enough of not seeing Sihtric’s face. He slowly pulled back the hood, caressing his sharp cheekbones along the way, the arch of his ears, Gisela’s silver beads in his hair. Sihtric leaned into the touch, and when Finan could finally see his pale face, his eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted. Another invitation he wasn’t going to waste.  
  
Finan kissed him, using his hands on Sihtric’s neck to guide him closer. Sihtric kept teasing him, though, lightly touching his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and then retreating again. It made Finan growl with annoyance and Sihtric grin in victory, but it served its purpose. It was as much of a distraction as they dared, while standing guard inside a fortress filled to the brim with warriors who wanted them either on their side or dead.  
  
Speaking of which. “This army will not reach Wessex as one,” Finan said with more hope than faith. “It will fall apart long before that.”  
  
There was a pause as Sihtric pondered that possibility. “What if it doesn’t?”  
  
Finan had no answer to that. Not one he wanted to say out loud and tempt fate with. “Whatever happens,” he finally said, voice low but sincere. “We will get through whatever happens together.”  
  
He felt rather than saw Sihtric nod. “Whatever happens,” he echoed.  
  
They stayed close, chest to chest and temple to temple, their breaths of white air mingling between them. Sihtric was warm against him, steady and solid, as sure an anchor for Finan as he strove to be for him. And in all the madness surrounding them in the cold and the dark, Finan thought, this was the only thing they could truly count on.  
  
  
\<|>/  
  
  
Thank you very much for reading!


End file.
